If a community pushes out a dissenter, then it’s not really a community, it’s an oligarchy (I had to look it up to make sure that was the right word).

Teachers are famous for following the path of least resistance: “Don’t ask any questions, and we can end this staff meeting with time for grading.” Admins are famous for bull-dozing dissenters who might upset the status quo: “I don’t want to be *that principal* who can’t keep his staff under control.” Dissenters themselves misunderstand their role: “I am the only person in this school who really gets it, and I will not be silenced!”

The special sauce of community that brings these people into harmony is empathy. Even though we all work in the same building, we do not all have the same cognitive, emotional, and energy resources. We have to exercise sensitivity to each others’ hurts, habits, and hang-ups. We have to learn about the personal visions and goals that our bosses, employees, and co-workers have for the future. We need to ask questions to learn, rather than only asking questions to direct conversations.

It’s touchy-feely stuff, but it matters. What do you think?

Why do you think it is so hard for school leaders to embrace the Galileos in their buildings? I know—having been a Galileo for the majority of my career—that we’re often pushed to the outskirts of school communities, but I’ve never been able to figure out why.

Compounding the problem is that most Galileos don’t care if they’re on the outside looking in! I’m perfectly happy making my own discoveries—and while I’m willing to share those ideas with others around me, I’m not going to force them to embrace my thinking. If they want to ignore me, great! That doesn’t change what I know about the world.

Any of this make sense?
Bill

One bit of push back for you: Many professional learning teams really need the kind of structure and handouts that you’re describing here. The organic nature of community development—-which you’re right, is messy—can completely overwhelm novice learning teams.

Left in a room with little guidance, they flounder—either focusing on the wrong things or nothing at all. For those teams, PLCs end up becoming an even greater waste of time….and for those teams, structure provides clear direction and opportunities to feel progress: “We completed our team norms worksheet! Cool. What’s next?”

For advanced learning teams—-and for sophisticated teachers working on novice learning teams—-these structures can be restrictive and frustrating, making learning teams feel prepackaged and “fake.” That’s probably the group that you fall into.

In the end, the error here is in the way that PLC work is rolled out in schools and districts. Administrators—who are as overworked as we are—don’t have the time, skill, or experience to manage teams at different stages of development, so they take a “one-size fits all” approach to learning teams as a survival strategy.

Any of this make sense?
Bill